


open up my eager eyes

by whiteteethniall



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Asexual, Cisgirl!Zayn, F/F, Genderswap, Uni AU, alcohol cw, also a fair bit of drinking it's first week of uni, bc larry is too mainstream, cisgirl!niall, cisgirl!ziall, don't freak out over harry/ashton, featuring bad puns, girl fic, girl!Niall, girl!Zayn, god what else do I tag um, it's only a minor side pairing, kale smoothie mentions, smut free, ziall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 08:32:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2615171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiteteethniall/pseuds/whiteteethniall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Maybe there was residual beer in her system from Fresher Week, but Niall was pretty sure this girl was some kind of angel.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>In her first lecture of her first year of uni, Niall sees the Mystery Girl. It's only a side view of a face, only a passing admiration, but Niall struck out 'only' from her vocabulary long ago.</p><p>A cisgirl!ziall uni AU sans smut for the 1dsmutfree collection</p>
            </blockquote>





	open up my eager eyes

**Author's Note:**

> My first 1d fic ever on a pairing very dear to my heart! Big love to Aylin for getting me involved in 1dsmutfree and a MASSIVE thank you to Bambi, my darling beta :*

# Open up my eager eyes

Niall could feel electricity in her toes. 

Maybe it was the excitement of her first day at uni, of getting out there and greeting the world after a long summer of anticipation. Maybe it was sweat, pooling in her socks, making her Converse squeak as she walked into the lecture theatre (an embarrassment she played off with her trademark cheeky Irish smile).

Maybe it was the sheer number of people in the room, reminding her how far she was from Mullingar. She’d heard on the grapevine that the first week of lectures always gathered the biggest crowds, while everyone was still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Still, she wasn’t expecting this. It was invigorating, though, to look around and see so many other first-years, all there for the same purpose. Niall may not have been wearing Coke-bottle glasses or pigtails, but she was a nerd in her own right, and the idea of studying with all these new people was thrilling. Not that she wasn’t excited for the social aspect of the new hoards, of course, but she was a bit partied out after Fresher’s Week. She may have avoided some elements of the debauchery, but she did develop a reputation for drinking all the boys in her hall under the table. 

Or maybe that tingling was a prediction of things to come - ‘things’ being the girl in the row in front of her, long dark hair cascading like a waterfall over the back of her seat. Tiny plaits hid in the soft curls, their presence marked by little silver clamps holding them together. If Niall lifted her knees a few inches, the deep chestnut ends would brush her knees through the holes in her boyfriend jeans. But that was a weird thing to think, to think about the feeling of a stranger’s hair on your knees, and yet Niall was entranced. 

It was lucky, then, that it was only the first lecture of the semester, and Niall could get away with not paying attention. She’d never been much of a multi-tasker, but she managed to absorb some of the information about the Introduction to Politics module - a research essay due before the Christmas break, an exam at the end of May, something about an online quiz? And weekly small-group tutorials, that was one thing Niall remembered. It had only been half an hour, but she knew who she wanted in her tutorial. Her heart had already raced uncomfortably when Mystery Girl had turned to ask her neighbour a question and Niall had caught a glimpse of a cheekbone sharp enough to cut glass. Maybe there was residual beer in her system from Fresher Week, but Niall was pretty sure this girl was some kind of angel.

Niall, on the other hand, was just a lowly human girl with a messy blonde ponytail, so when the lecturer wrapped up his introductory spiel, she was off like a shot. Her usually effortless (and usually effective) flirting wasn’t yet ready for this girl; Niall needed a debrief and a bit more courage before she could cross that bridge (or even put her toe on the first plank).

-

“So what you’re saying is…”

Niall waited for Harry to finish her sentence. Harry was usually a slow speaker, and even more so with her mouth full of banana. “...you’ve met some kind of goddess in your politics lecture?”

“‘Met’ is probably an overstatement,” Niall replied, a mortified blush filling her cheeks. She hadn’t spoken to this girl, hadn’t made eye contact, hadn’t smiled. Her infatuation was based on - what? Hair? A cheekbone? Warm olive skin?

“Maybe she just has an energy, you know? An aura…” Niall was tempted to ask Harry what she’d put in her kale shake this morning, but maybe she had a point. Some people just had that magic, an attractive pull. Niall was already prepared to believe that this girl was a heavenly being; it wasn’t much of a stretch to think of her as magical, or at least magnetic. 

“You know, with my knowledge and understanding of love, I really should be better at it,” Harry sighed, shaking out her milk chocolate locks. Niall had only known Harry a week, but she already felt she knew the Cheshire girl inside out. Sharing a room in halls meant they were instant buddies, navigating the Fresher Week parties together, holding each others’ hair when they went too hard at the pub. Harry didn’t need to be drunk, though, to tell Niall everything - she was a naturally open person, with few reservations or insecurities about her internal and external selves. Niall appreciated her lack of pretense; Niall herself strived to be straightforward in her relationships, just as her parents had been. So it was little surprise that Niall had heard Harry’s relationship history in its entirety - holiday ‘flings’ that were so much more than casual for Harry, friendships that nudged the borderline of love. Harry’s easy smile and mint eyes had scored her many admirers in the last week of parties, hookups that Niall happily facilitated. But she knew her friend yearned for something deeper - as did Niall.

“Ah, we’re a sorry pair, aren’t we?” muttered Niall, flopping back onto her single bed and closing her eyes. Her mock sleep was interrupted by a pillow hitting her head. “Speak for yourself,” said Harry, with a grin, propping herself up to kneel on her own bed. “ _I_ am the most eligible bachelorette in this hall of residence,” Harry put her hand on her heart and moved to stand up, “or indeed, in this entire university!”. Harry finished with a flourish of her arms and a rather unceremonious wobble, her foot tangled in the duvet. Niall was so busy laughing, her eyes crinkled to the point of blindness, that she didn’t notice Harry crossing the room to straddle her and jab a finger in her face.

“My mother always told me not to point,” she ventured, “but _you_ , Niall Horan, are a burst of Irish sunshine, and you are going to get this girl!”. Niall blushed, the heat radiating from her cheeks probably enough to justify the ‘sunshine’ label. In truth, though, she had no idea how to ‘get’ this mystery girl. What if she never saw her again? Plenty of people go to the first lecture of a subject, then change their minds. There were 25,000 undergraduates at the university; Mystery Girl could easily become a needle in the arts faculty haystack. 

Harry could sense her worry. Leaning down to kiss Niall’s forehead, she whispered “no need to fret yet, petal.” With an explanation about her first sociology lecture, Harry was off, leaving Niall in a haze of frangipani perfume and anticipation.

-

Tuesday morning came too soon. Niall had slept restlessly, plagued by strange dreams of chasing Mystery Girl over land and through a kale smoothie sea. She put double her usual amount of coffee in her mug and shuffled zombie-like over to Harry, who was leaning lazily against a bench at the back of the dining room, sipping tea. In a surprising show of coordination, Harry was managing not to burn her back against the hot urn just beside her. 

Harry didn’t bother to send more than a ‘morning’ in Niall’s direction. Niall’s roommate knew well that sleep deprivation was the only force capable of draining Niall’s pep, but also that her spark would return as soon as she consumed some caffeine. Sure enough, the first sip of instant to Niall worked like rainfall after a drought; she felt invigorated and alive. 

“What classes’ve you got today?” inquired Harry, conversation now possible. With a glance at the day’s timetable scrawled on the back of her hand, Niall confirmed that her day consisted of her first political economy lecture and, excitingly, her first Intro to Politics tutorial.

Of course, Niall knew better than to expect Mystery Girl in her tutorial - there were hundreds of students in yesterday’s lecture, and only twenty-five or so would be in today’s class - but she couldn’t help but wonder what if. What would she do? How would she speak to this girl who’d already set her heart on fire without even a glance?

Maybe Niall would be disappointed. Maybe the girl would be mean-spirited or rude or dull… or straight. Sometimes Niall forgot that not every girl had awoken to the beauty of women; maybe Mystery Girl had some incredibly fit jock boyfriend, or maybe a fedora-wearing brony (though she doubted an angel, even one so unknown to Niall, would stoop that low).

It was thoughts like these that occupied Niall’s mind all morning, through her ten o’clock lecture (another unimportant intro, she justified) and through her lunch break, in which she decided to skip salad and carb-load on a chip butty to fire her up for the possibility of meeting the girl of her dreams (literally). A beer would’ve been better, but Niall didn’t want to start her university career going to classes under the influence. No, she was going to tackle this with her pure charm and good humour - that is, if there was anything to tackle.

-

Niall was mentally slapping herself as the tutor began her introductory diatribe. Of course Mystery Girl wasn’t here; of course she instead was doing a getting-to-know-you exercise with a leery boy who seemed to think the two lumps above Niall’s ribcage were her eyes. Niall loved football, lived and breathed Derby, but she was far from impressed with Angus’ profession of his ability to score, complete with a lick of the lips. 

It was truly a blessing, then, when the tutor couldn’t find Angus’ name on the roll and deduced that he was in another tute taking place at the same time. Niall was more than happy to introduce herself to the class, rather than a partner; she wasn’t shy, and had even been accused of introducing herself with the detail of a dating show contestant. 

Still, there was one thing Niall could think of that would be better than introducing herself. Fate must’ve been on her side that day, for at that moment, the door to the classroom opened and Mystery Girl hurried in. She gave an apology to the tutor - something about getting lost - while Niall looked at her in admiration. She was probably a little taller than Niall, and slim, with a leanness that just fell short of wiry. Her hair today was swept into a ponytail, braids and all. Her left nostril bore a silver ring that gave her an extra touch of magic, magic that came across despite her simple black ripped denim shorts and black batwing top. The neck of the jumper was wide enough to hang over the girl’s shoulder, exposing collarbones and the strap of a black singlet. Niall didn’t know that angels were meant to wear black, yet this girl radiated, from her goddess hair down to her combat boots.

Niall was so entranced in admiring every detail of the girl’s appearance that she didn’t realise that the tutor had pointed her in Niall’s direction. Of course the late kid would be matched with the kid without a partner, Niall thought, and how glad she was for that. Well, glad and terrified, as the fairy in combat boots slid into the chair next to her.

“Hi, I’m Zayn,” offered the no-longer-a-Mystery Girl in a broad Northern accent. “Niall, it’s nice to meet you,” rushed Niall in reply, her voice steady despite her pounding heart. She managed to give a wide grin, feeling her eyes crinkle (do they crinkle too much? She didn’t want to look too eager).

She didn’t expect Zayn’s smile in return - two sets of shiny white teeth, lips stretching wide, eyes screwing up as much as Niall’s did. Zayn’s smile made Niall want to smile harder, made her heart feel like it had plunged into a warm bubble bath. “So I guess we’re meant to tell each other who we are, yeah?”

Niall swallowed (was that her heart up there in her throat?) and listed off the first facts that came to mind. Born in a small town in Ireland, moved to England for this university and to gain some independence. Missed her parents, her brother and his wife and Niall’s new nephew, but it was worth it to get closer to her dream of representing Ireland in the EU Parliament. 

Then it was Zayn’s turn. She was studying Fine Arts at the insistence of her mother; Zayn had intended to choose something with more job prospects, something that could let her one day provide for her younger sisters, but Trish was nothing if not supportive of her daughter’s talents. Zayn lived in a share flat closer to the town with her old work friend Perrie, the two girls living off takeaways and Perrie’s one recipe. The half-Pakistani girl didn’t know what she wanted to do after uni, but she hoped it involved illustration (“I’d love to get into comics,” Zayn confessed, with a blush and a scratch of the neck). The politics module was for interest and for something a bit more stable, just in case.

Niall felt like she was in one of those movies where the main character takes some ultra-secret new drug and can suddenly use all their brain capacity. She was hearing everything Zayn was saying, loud and clear, but she was also watching her every move - her tiny lip bites, the way she fiddled with her rings, her knees crossing and uncrossing. Niall thought of that Sam Smith song, the one about feeling so _enamoured_. They were talking for the first time and yet here Niall was, enamoured with Zayn.

The tutor stopped the class before Niall’s heart could swell any more. The rest of the hour tutorial passed in a blur of new names and fun facts and Zayn, Zayn, Zayn, sitting next to her like a carefree bird. Did Niall introduce her to the class with a bit too much relish? Perhaps, but she could’ve sworn Zayn did the same. 

But soon enough the tutorial was over, and Zayn was sweeping her black satchel over her shoulder, tucking in a marker that was halfway to making its escape. “I’ve gotta run to the studio, but I’ll see you next week, yeah?” she half-called out as she strutted purposefully to the door. Niall just nodded. She was dumbfounded by this girl, she was sad that she was escaping her already - but she caught the tiniest blush in Zayn’s cheeks when she looked back at Niall, and that was enough to keep her feeling golden all the way back to her room.

-

The rest of the first week passed in a blur of introductory classes and Not Seeing Zayn. Niall would’ve thought she had dreamt the magical fairy girl, if not for Harry poking her in the ribs several times a day to ask her if she’d spied the young painter around campus. Harry had also enthusiastically stalked Zayn out on Facebook, but Niall didn’t want to know - she’d add her when she was ready, she argued to a pouting Harry, and that would be when the girls were closer in person.

Harry’s nagging took the backseat on Friday night, though, when the girls were getting ready to head out. It was the student association’s Saints and Sinners party, an intro to the year for all students, even those who logically should have been giving their livers a break after Freshers’ Week. In all honesty, it was not really Niall’s scene. The posters around campus with images of scantily-clad women and the slogan “What sins will you commit tonight?” alluded to something Niall in which was not interested. Harry, though, was super keen, and Niall was always there to support her - and to partake in cheap alcohol.

“Is it alright?” the brunette asked, giving a little twirl. It took Niall a moment to answer; Harry had left her pretty gobsmacked in her skin-tight, low-cut black dress, patterned with white hearts. She’d gone all out with the accessories, garters and tights extending down to stilettos with an ankle strap. Her hair was contained (somewhat) by a sequined scarf tied around her head. Niall finally managed to choke out a “Fantastic!”, for which Harry gave her an exaggerated wink. Niall probably would’ve fallen in love with her if she hadn’t felt so much like a sister from the moment they met.

Satisfied with her own aesthetic (even giving her pert bum a little slap in the mirror), Harry turned her attention to Niall. “Pleeeeeeease can I do your eyes, Nialler?” she simpered, again with that legendary pout. She was practising, Niall knew. Harry liked to go out, make out, and collapse onto her bed in the wee hours, flushed and still tipsy - if she hadn’t gone home with someone else. Niall knew she was in the market for something more long-term, though, so she was working her game to the max in the hope of attracting both love and lust.

Niall put her hands up in surrender, as Harry giggled and pulled out a fistful of eyeliners and got to work. Niall was going for the saintly look tonight in a loose white t-shirt dress and white wedge sneakers. Her blonde hair flowed in natural waves over her shoulder blades, beneath which were a pair of angel wings from the pound shop in town. Harry was capitalising on the theme with white eyeliner and just a dab of gold pigment shadow, opening up her baby blues. 

“Baby blue, ru ru ru,” Harry mumbled to herself, finishing Niall’s mascara with a self-satisfied flick. Niall leaned forward and kissed her friend on the cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered in Harry’s ear. Leaning back, she looked Harry straight in the eye and declared in her best Geordie accent, “let’s get fuckin’ mortal!” With a gleeful shriek, Harry grabbed Niall’s wrist in one hand and her clutch in the other and the two half-ran, half-skipped out the door.

-

It’d just gone half eleven and Niall was alone at the bar. Not that she minded, really - the drinks were still flowing and she had an excellent vantage point for scoping out the dancefloor below. Harry was down there, the sequins of her scarf dancing in the lights. She was locked in an embrace with an attractive, dirty-blonde Australian girl (Ashley? Ashton?) whose height Niall had found intimidating. Harry didn’t seem fussed at all, though, pulling the girl’s head down for another deep kiss.

Niall decided she should probably stop watching her new best friend making out with someone (bit pervy, wasn’t it?) so she turned her attention to the other bar patrons. She caught the eye of Liam, a second-year who lived on Niall and Harry’s floor. Being older, she got one of only two single rooms on the floor, and rumour had it she’d filled her extra space with a rowing machine. Niall had never seen inside to confirm, but from the way Liam strutted into the dining hall each morning in a university rowing squad hoodie, she wouldn’t be surprised.

Liam now walked over to Niall and clapped a large hand on her shoulder. “Alright, Niall?” Niall nodded, taking another swig of beer. “Not bad, yourself?”

Liam leaned in conspiratorially and let out a surprisingly high-pitched giggle. “To be honest,” she mock-whispered in a way that certainly hinted at intoxication, “I’m hiding from Louis,”

Louis was the occupant of the other single room on the floor. Elfin in a mischievous way, she was an up-and-comer on the university’s women’s football team and Liam’s arch-rival. Something about Louis’ agility and capacity for smirking rubbed Liam, with her openly- (and loudly-) expressed feelings and brute strength, up the wrong way. Indeed, Niall could see Louis sauntering her way towards the bar, her eyes gleaming cheekily even from this distance. 

“She’s coming, Liam, you better run,” Niall muttered, with a sneaky tickle to Liam’s taught side. Liam put a finger to her lips and mock-tiptoed away. I love tipsy people, Niall thought with a silent chuckle. This night was panning out to be better than she thought. Sure, she was on her own, and yes, she had overheard an uncomfortably dirty conversation between a nun and a priest (offending Niall’s few remaining Catholic sensibilities as well as her ears), but the students there were laughing and dancing and their happiness made Niall happy, too.

Maybe she didn’t have to be all alone, though. The latest bar patron made her approach and Niall felt her heartbeat double in tempo. Zayn had looked like a fairy in her Tuesday politics tutorial but tonight, she was an empress, a queen from another time. Her dress draped elegantly from her shoulders to her cleavage, a hint of rib exposed in cutouts before a sweeping skirt. On anyone else, Niall would describe the colour as muted red, but nothing could ever be muted on Zayn. Zayn’s fingernails were painted red, thin black lines of polish forming the shape of devil horns and forked tails. Niall’s angel wings felt woefully tacky in the face of such an understated nod to the theme. But Niall didn’t feel down on herself for too long, because the smile on Zayn’s face when she spotted the young Irishwoman was enough to make Niall feel like a real-life heavenly creature.

Niall hoped Zayn would mistake the blush on her cheeks for reflection of Zayn’s red dress when the Fine Arts student swept in for a hug. “You look lovely tonigh’”, she murmured, biting her lip and smiling with such ease and brilliance that Niall nearly fainted on the spot.

But she couldn’t let Zayn overwhelm her. She was Niall, the girl who charmed her way through any situation with a casual grin and a little twinkle in her eye. She couldn’t stand there like a muppet or else Zayn would think she was incapable of thought - or worse, uninterested. So downing the last of her pint, she leaned in to Zayn’s rose-scented aura and asked, “do you want to dance?”

Zayn grinned (again with that killer smile! Fuck off!) and grabbed Niall’s palm. Niall swore she was sweating the volume of the Channel, but Zayn didn’t let go until they were downstairs amongst the bumping and grinding throng. Zayn was a little shy with her dance moves, but Niall’s out-of-time hip shakes were enough to get her laughing and loosening up. And god, did Zayn get loose, bending her knees and feeling every beat of the music. It was seductive, even though Niall didn’t want to get Zayn into bed - she just wanted to watch her dance forever, giggling and rolling her hips and looking better than anyone in the room. Soon, Niall found the courage to put her hands over Zayn’s shoulders and pull her in, so they could sway and smile together.

The whole situation must’ve been a little too perfect, for before Niall knew it (well, maybe it had been an hour, but she was beyond measuring time correctly), Harry had appeared by her side. Swaying slightly, she tapped Niall on the shoulder, leading the blonde to pull away from Zayn unwillingly. “Can you-u take me home, Nialler?” Harry slurred slightly, her eyes taking a minute to focus on Niall’s face. “Ashton went home, said she didn’t want to rush things, isn’t that romantic?”

Niall nodded. Infatuation with Zayn hadn’t overridden her protective instincts, especially not those directed towards her best friend. With sad eyes, she looked up at her dancing partner. Zayn’s chocolate pair were sympathetic. “I’ll taxi back with you two, yeah? I live just down the road from uni”

Niall felt a rush of comfort. It was a little thing, but it seemed as if Zayn really cared, as if tonight wasn’t just one night of dancing. Maybe she was reading into things too much, but it was nice, awfully nice.

“I’m Harry, by the way” Miss Curly shouted, too loud even with the pounding music. Zayn extended her hand to meet Harry’s limp one. “Zayn, lovely to meet you,”

It took Harry a moment to register the name, but Niall knew Harry was aware who Zayn was when her green eyes lit up with understanding. “You really are as beautiful as Niall said,” she offered, glancing between the pair gleefully. Zayn’s cheeks turned the colour of her dress and Niall was sure hers were the same. As she ferried the others hastily out of the club, she couldn’t help but dread the cab ride home.

-

As it turned out, Harry didn’t do much more to embarrass Niall on the way home - except one not-so-sly “don’t Zayn’s boobs look good in that dress, Niall?”. The ride back to uni wasn’t long, but Harry was dozing contently on Niall’s shoulder by the time the cab pulled up to their hall. Apparently as kind as she was beautiful, Zayn offered to walk the two to the door (“Can’t let this sleepy one fall over,” she’d said, smiling affectionately at Harry). They made it up the stairs without issue, Harry falling onto her bed as soon as she was over their threshold. Zayn chuckled at the sight, before turning to Niall and running her fingers through her wavy locks. 

“It was really fun dancing with you tonight, Niall,” she said quietly, ducking her head and looking up at Niall through thick lashes. Niall had to bite the inside of her lip to stop herself from grinning too wide. “You too, Zayn, you too.”

A quick glance at the clock on Harry’s nightstand and Zayn was shuffling her feet. “I’d better be getting home,” she sighed. Niall held her breath as Zayn leant forward and, eyes closed, planted the softest kiss on her cheek. The fairy magic was there, right on her face, then it was gone. Zayn had whisked herself off down the hallway and Niall was alone once more.

-

The weekend passed as quickly as mud through an hourglass. Niall had added Zayn on Facebook, but was too shy to message her. Asking ‘what are we?’ was stupid, she knew, but she was wrapped up in the idea of Zayn already. They’d danced almost intimately but did that really mean something to Zayn? Did Harry’s slip of the tongue put her off?

 _It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss_. Mr Brightside was on loop in her head as she relived that second over and over. Dumb girl - Brandon Flowers was probably singing about something more than a peck on the cheek. It still meant something though, it did. She couldn’t start going down that path of weighing up experiences and attributing more worth to some. She’d been there before and it only lead to feelings of wrongness, when her everything was everyone else’s starting point.

“Cheer up, Nialler”, spat out Harry, between bites of carrot. “You’re overthinking everything… early days yet. just let it flow”

“Says the girl who already wrote Ashton a sonnet” Niall couldn’t help the bitterness leeching into her voice. Of course Harry had found the love of her life in the first weekend of uni. Of course the girl had to be stunning and intelligent and _Australian_. Harry, the ‘most eligible bachelorette in this whole university’, had got her girl. And Niall was sitting here mooning over a girl who’d only kissed her on the cheek.

“It was for my English class, I sent it to her to proof-read!” half-yelled Harry in reply. Her tone softened when she saw Niall’s face, which was probably miserable, if her mood was anything to go by. “See how things go in your lecture tomorrow, okay? You can talk to her afterwards, I’m sure she’ll be pleased to see you,”

Then Harry’s arms were around her, warm and comforting, and Niall could breathe again. 

-

Zayn wasn’t there. 

Niall had been scanning the lecture theatre since the moment she walked in. Monday was a new day, she’d been telling herself, and she could figure things out with Zayn. But Zayn wasn’t here, and Niall was left to spend the two-hour block actually concentrating on politics - or trying. She may have been dreaming of a political career one day, but at that moment, liberal philosophy was the furthest thing from her mind.

She couldn’t help but scuff her feet along the ground as she shuffled out of the lecture. She was just going to have to face the fact that she’d been silly, sinking like the Titanic into the idea of this girl. Zayn was lovely but maybe she just didn’t feel that spark, you know? Maybe Niall wasn’t her type. Maybe she didn’t even like girls! But Niall was sure she’d felt something.

Niall was so lost in her own thoughts that she almost didn’t hear someone call her name in a distinctive voice, soft as a feather. There she was, like in a dream, taking a long drag on a cigarette. Zayn.

“That’s bad for you, you know,” said Niall, her voice as much a warning to Zayn as it was to her not to get too close. Zayn shrugged. “Just haven’t found the motivation to quit, I guess”

Niall made a motion as if to go. Truth be told, she had nowhere to be, but she didn’t know what to say to Zayn. _Hey, was that kiss a kiss kiss or just a bye kiss?_ Zayn had other ideas, though. “Wait, Niall, can I ask you something?”

Niall raised her eyebrows in affirmation. “D’you wanna, like, get coffee this week?”

It was just a suggestion for coffee, but Niall’s heart started pounding. Her voice was steady when she replied, though: “Costa in town at eleven tomorrow?”

“That would be… ace,” replied Zayn with a sly smile, her eyes flickering down to Niall’s bag. Niall had to admit she was shocked - not many people noticed the little black, grey, white and purple badge on her satchel, let alone knew what it meant. She was so pleasantly surprised that she didn’t even noticed Zayn’s face screw up until she spoke again.

“Sorry, that was a terrible pun… I’m sorry” Niall only laughed. “You should have a chat to Harry when she’s sober, she’s full of great puns!”

Zayn’s mouth opened and her eyes crinkled as she laughed. She was so beautiful, Niall thought. Pure light, really. With a quick glance around to check they were alone behind the theatre, Niall stepped forward. A gentle hand on Zayn’s shoulder, she leaned in - slowly, to give Zayn time to resist. But she didn’t. Zayn moved her head in to meet her lips with Niall’s. Soft, gentle, only a little wet - perfect, thought Niall, as she slowly opened her mouth. Zayn’s tongue gently slipped through her lips, touching Niall’s tongue lightly. Niall breathed deeply through her nose, moving deeper into the kiss, but Zayn pulled away. Before Niall had the chance to cry out in shock, Zayn’s lips were at her ear. “I can hear someone coming,” she whispered, the tiniest giggle in her voice.

Trying to play cool, Niall leant away and shook out her hair. “Walk me to the library?” she propositioned. Zayn’s mouth twitched adorably as she grabbed Niall’s hand. “C’mon then,”

She was six hours from Mullingar, a 288 mile drive from her family and old friends. And yet as she walked through campus, hand in hand with Zayn, Niall knew she could make this place her home.

Niall could feel electricity in her chest.  



End file.
